


Final Nail In the Coffin

by StripedScribe



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Buried Alive, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripedScribe/pseuds/StripedScribe
Summary: He was too late. Always too late, never good enough. That favourite heartbeat of his thumped away, 6 feet underground.FrattWeek: Nail
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: Fratt Week





	Final Nail In the Coffin

He clawed at the ground with his hands, a faint heartbeat echoing up to him, six feet under. Slow in unconsciousness, but still that steadying beat of home, of safety. Rain drizzled down on him, threatening to fill in the hole he’d dug out, to drown Frank in its silence.

There wasn’t a soul for miles, no one he could call out to for help. It was just him, and his lover, 6 awful feet apart, the loose ground tightening as the rain fell, an impossible barrier.

Unmarked, in the middle of nowhere. A mission Frank had dragged him out of the city for, until they’d got split up, chasing different leads, fighting their own fights. Until Frank had disappeared, and for a while he thought his mission had drifted him a little too far away. Until word got back to him as to where he was, and that he had been taken. A terrifying journey, an unfamiliar location, and no scent of anyone still being here. Just markers, the smell of fuel hanging around, the ground ripped up from vehicles, something heavy dragged along the floor. He followed the track to a pile of dirt, crouching, and hearing that awful sound of a heartbeat. Instantly recognisable, the beat that he fell asleep to every night, that kept him company across the city. The sound of home, of having someone to go back to. He was still asleep, unconscious, with gentle breaths. Safe for a while from the panic of waking up in a coffin, of realising he was trapped. A moment which would undoubtedly happen soon, and would take away more of his precious oxygen in that hole.

Matt could only carry on digging, hoping, praying to God, that he could get him out of there in time. Bare hands driving into the ground, nothing left behind from Frank’s attackers to give him any hint of an easier time.

Mud and dirt were caking to his gloves, up his arms, as he scooped dirt away, trying to save him. Moving far too slowly, too little progress to show for all the work he was doing. Intrusive thoughts in his mind that he was already too late, that he wouldn’t get there in time. No choice but to ignore them, to sink deeper into the ground, closer to Frank.

Each scoop of dirt felt heavier, and all he could concentrate on was the slow thump of Frank’s heart, steady, grounding.

Getting slower.

How much oxygen would there have been in there to start with? How soon before that little air would kill a person?

It was nothing he’d ever looked up, but was all his mind could drift to, as his hands concentrated on digging, the repetitive movements aching, his body screaming at him to stop. He couldn’t. Not with Frank in there, dying, slowly suffocating.

He wasn’t making enough progress. It was too slow, too hard, the rain a constant barrier, soon hiding the tears that started to fall. He threw off his helmet, anger at the world, trying to use that as well as a makeshift tool, to push the dirt away, to find Frank.

The moment his breathing shifted from sleep to consciousness, he heart it. And then the panic, as Frank realised he was trapped, the swearing, the screaming, before speaking strict words to himself, to calm. To save what little air he had in there. That Matt would get him out, as he tried to punch away at the coffin, the dirt too heavy pressing down.

“I’m trying Frank, I’m trying.” He wouldn’t be able to hear him. Wouldn’t even be able to tell that he was there, digging, trying to save his life. Frank would believe he was alone, abandoned.

He had to be better. Had to be stronger, be quicker, be better, to save Frank. Couldn’t be so close to saving him, forced to just listen to him die. “I’m here love, I’ve got you.” He needed help, needed more hands, but they were so far from anyone. Abandoned in the countryside, no civilisation for miles, the taxi that had dropped him off long gone by now. He was Frank’s only chance. They both knew that.

Frank didn’t speak, didn’t move, but he could hear the fear in his heartbeat, the forced shallow breaths of survival. If they had been swapped, would Frank have been able to get him out quicker? Or would he have never found him, the pile of dirt looking like nothing, no powers to hear a heartbeat so far underground.

“Fuck. No, no, no Frank, come on, hold on.” In the box, he’d heard Frank’s breathing change, oxygen running low, running out, a body fighting to survive. Being poisoned by the air it was in, as Frank slipped back into unconsciousness, heart starting to beat faster.

Too fast for Frank. His heart never beat fast, sure, a little faster on a date, with nerves, when he asked Matt out for the first time. Steady as a nail when he was lining up a shot, when they were on missions together. The constant reassurance and safety. Not this fast fear, a body trying to find air where there was none.

“I’m here, I’m here, you’re not alone.” The sinking realisation he might be too late. That there was still so much dirt between them, suffocating him, killing him.

Breaking them apart.

This was why he didn’t deserve friends, family, love. They all got hurt, got killed, because of him.

His hands were bleeding, blood running through his gloves, joining with the mud and the rain in the shallow hole he’d made. A pathetic attempt at rescue, even as he carried on this pointless mission, hearing Frank’s breathing shudder to a stop, his body give in.

He was too late. He was always too slow, too late, not enough. Never good enough.

Frank was too good for him.

He had to bring him home.

As he carried on digging, he heard a wail, too late realising it was coming from him. Sobbing in grief, he frantically destroyed the ground, trying to get closer to Frank. Wanting nothing more than to just curl up in the grave he’d made, and give up.

He was so close now, he was sure of it. No marker of a heart anymore to guide him there, stood in the grave, dirt walls surrounding him.

A dull thud, as his hands hit wood, the front of a coffin. Exposing it more, finding his knife, to pull nails from the side of the coffin, gentle to not hurt Frank.

Pushing aside the lid, barely enough space to stand, to crouch, to-

To fall onto Frank, sobbing apologies to a dead body.

Flickers of thoughts across his mind, to stay here, to die together, like he deserved. A coffin for one, forced to fit two. Frank deserved a funeral, that final send off. For people to know what good he had done in his life, even if it broke Matt.

And so, with a great deal of effort, he pulled them both out of the grave, ever gentle with Frank. Started to stagger towards the road, before realising, there was little way of getting them home together like this. Him in his suit, and a dead body.

He sat Frank down again, leaning against the pile of dirt, and sent out an SOS to everyone on his contact list back home. A location, a request for pick-up.

Waiting, tired, exhausted, his eyes slipped close. He could almost pretend they were on a date again, peaceful, or a break in a mission. If it wasn’t for the jarring silence, the rapidly lowering temperature of the body next to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Less whump tomorrow for FrattWeek ;)
> 
> (Also covers FebuWhump day 9 [Buried Alive] but I'd already written the other one)


End file.
